


I'd Die For You

by VivelaFrance24601



Series: Les Miserables Works Inspired by Songs [3]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Cars, Enjolras is Not Apollo but He is an Angel, Enjolras is Very Mean, Enjolras is scared, Enjolras never loves Grantaire, Grantaire Makes No Sense When He Drinks, Grantaire is Very Drunk, M/M, My Limited Knowledge of Poetry Shows, So many mentions of Angels, They Have a Very Bad Argument, Very Sad in Later Chapters, inner thoughts, pure angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-25
Updated: 2015-08-11
Packaged: 2018-04-11 05:39:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4423493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VivelaFrance24601/pseuds/VivelaFrance24601
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I don't believe in anything because I already believe in you, and that just about covers everything."</p><p>Or an argument, a coat, some feelings, and death.</p><p>Inspired by "I Miss You" by Miley Cyrus, but only slightly. Literally, though, you'd have to look really closely for the connections.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Already Believe in You

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this without editing, so if there are any mistakes, please let me know. This didn't take too long to write, but I'm actually quite fond of this piece, so some comments on it would be nice. Now get ready for the sadness and feels that you will feel while reading this (although they come mostly in the later chapters).

"I see the drunkard has awaken at last!" Enjolras called from the front of the Café Musain where he was gathering up his many papers from the meeting of Les Amis de l'ABC that had just ended a few moments ago. The rest of the Amis had disappeared into the winter night, leaving only Enjolras and Grantaire. He watched Grantaire as his eyes focused and as he shook his head to clear the grogginess away.

Enjolras had never grown as close with Grantaire as he did with the other Amis. It was not hatred that he felt for the drunken and cynical man that who was sitting across the room, but more of an indifference, with a hint of pity. He did not care for him and labeled him as an aquaintence.

"Is that an angel's voice I hear, with it's sweet melodic noise dragging me from the depths of eternal sleep?" was Grantaire's reply, containing both a hint of playfulness and seriousness.

"No. It is only I: a man who has no time to converse with people like you. There is business to be done! Posters to be made, protests to be attended, petitions to be signed! And where do you fall in this, Grantaire? Nowhere. Your lack of participation is astounding. Why must you bother us by comimg week after week?"

Anger flared through Enjolras, blazing brightly through his whole being. While he was formidable when he was calm, his righteous anger made him invincible.

"The angel speaks again!" Grantaire laughed as he spoke. "The angel who thinks himself to be perfect and indestructable. But not even angel could go where I have been. Not even an angel like you, Enjolras, could travel to the very depths of Hell, where I have spent my entire life, and come back alive."

"You speak nonsense, Grantaire! Every word that comes out of your alcohol-stained mouth is worthless to our cause. Nothing you say has any meaning. You speak the language of uselessness."

Grantaire was unable to hold in his laughter any longer and burst into a hysterical cackle.

"The angel's wrath has fallen upon me! To be graced with his anger is a feeling of pure joy. I bask in the light that shines from the words you speak! I, my dear Enjolras, happen to speak the same language that our dear Jehan does. It is the words of the great poets who came before us. Of Shakespeare, of Frost, of Whitman. Shakespeare with his great soliloquies, Frost with his charming tales of fantasy and delight, and Whitman with his depth and richness of words. I speak the language of literature, of romance, of philosophy. Although it may be stained by my bottles, it is still beautiful nonetheless. Your angelic ears should be able to discern my speech to you."

"You are nothing but a drunken fool, Grantaire. The words you speak are formed by the bottle in front of you and have no meaning. You have no meaning. If you are not drinking, you are either sleeping or fooling about. There is work to do. You do not believe in anything, let alone the Cause. Why are you even here?

"If it is my departure you desire, my beloved angel, I will leave immediately," Grantaire spoke calmly as he started to get up. "There is nothing that I wouldn't do for you. I would die for you, starve for you, freeze for you, kill for you, heck, I'd even black your boots."

Grantaire had reached the doorway at that point, with tears in his eyes and a faint smile tilting his lips upward. Before stepping out into the freezing night, one last poetic line danced out of his mouth in a dejected voice: "I don't have to believe in anything, because I already believe in you, and that just about covers everything."

Enjolras stared at the doorway Grantaire had walked out of only seconds ago, his fury having already disappated, leaving him filled with something he had never felt before. Unbeknownst to him, he was feeling his first ever taste of shame and it was not something that he liked.


	2. Coated Ideals and Abrasive Truths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras realizes he did something wrong and searches for Grantaire to apologize.

It was not new for Enjolras to argue with Grantaire. It was not knew for Grantaire to leave after an arguement with Enjolras.But it was new for these arguements to become personal.

During the regular meetings of Les Amis, Enjolras and Grantaire could often be seen --and always heard-- spewing opposite opinions in a heated battle of words and wit. Each man would present his case, backing himself with facts drawn from various resources.

Enjolras would shout his ideas with his silver tongue, coating each syllable in passion and persuasiveness. All of Les Amis and the regular patrons of the Café Musain would hang onto every word.

Grantaire was on his side, all alone. His words were full of the abrasive truth that no one wished to hear.

The arguements were harsh, but Enjolras and Grantaire had never once lashed out at each other after a meeting had ended. They were always pleasant enough with each other outside of the Musain meetings.

This argument was terribly different and Enjolras didn't know what to do.

He had called out Grantaire on his alcoholism and had made attacks at his very person. This was very unlike him. Since when did he become someone who attacked someone personally, fighting like a coward. This was not who he was, nor who he wanted to be.

While this all bothered him, he was even more ashamed of the effects his words had on Grantaire. The more he pressed on with his attack, the more he saw Grantaire crumple with sadness. His words had hit Grantaire like sharp arrows, peircing his happiness --and he had still kept going. He kept firing hurtful words and now he was ashamed.

After all of that, Grantaire had still said he believed in Enjolras. After all of the hate that Enjolras threw at him, he still put his faith in him.

And then there were his eyes. Enjolras had seen his bright eyes when he had first waken up, and then saw them again when Grantaire was about to leave.

His eyes were filled with love; a broken love that made Enjolras realize how much he had wronged Grantaire.

He knew he should apologise, so he put on his coat and stepped into the chilly night, hoping that Grantaire hadn't gotten too far.

Hugging his coat around him, Enjolras followed the barely-there boot outlines imprinted on the ground in the soft snow that he guessed were Grantaire's.

Enjolras hadn't even traveled two blocks before sighting the figure that he knew to be Grantaire. It wasn't hard to figure it out, for the figure didn't have a coat and was hunched over, as if to stop the cold. He knew that Grantaire owned no coat.

He scurried through the slippery snow even faster, almost catching up to him. When he was close enough for his voice to reach Grantaire's ears, he called out.

"Grantaire!"

He knew Grantaire heard him because he saw his head shoot up, but he ignored Enjolras and began to cross a street.

"Grantaire! Wait! Please! I'm sorry!"

He saw Grantaire stop and turn around, eyes locking with Enjolras.

And then he saw Grantaire fly.


	3. Silent and Still

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras goes with Grantaire to the hospital.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for this in advance. Why can't I ever write happy?
> 
> All mistakes are mine because I'm too lazy to edit what I write.
> 
> Enjoy!

The next minutes whirled by, swirling around Enjolras without him able to grasp at them and slow them doown. Everything was a blur, and later, he would not be able to recall much; only the devastating parts that tore him apart ffrom the inside.

He remembered seeing the car that barreled into Grantaire's body drive off as if it had never hit him in the first place.

He also remembered running to Grantaire's limp body splayed out on the hard cement of the sidewalk where he landed. His limbs were spread at unnatural angles, like a marionette whose strings were cut. 

It was a horrid sight, and Enjolras was terrified, but he pressed on, trying to be strong, as he leaned over Grantaire's body, checking for a pulse. His long and spindly fingers shook as he placed one hand around his wrist and the other at the side of his neck to probe for Grantaire's carteroid artery.

Finding a very faint pulse, Enjolras dug his phone out of his pocket and dialed Emergency Services, his fingers trembling all the while.

"Emergency Services, please state your emergency," the operator on the line stated calmly.

"M-My friend," Enjolras stammered, "was h-hit by a c-car. His p-pulse is v-very f-f-faint."

"Location?"

"Th-Th intersection of A-Anderson a-and N-North Avenue."

"An ambulance will be there shortly, sir. Please stay on the line until the EMT's arrive," the operator said, more as a command than a true question.

Enjolras murmered a quiet "mmhm" in response and put his phone on the ground, turning it to speaker so he could hear the operator if she spoke again.

He then turned his attention to Grantaire.

He was pale, Enjolras noticed. He was so pale that his lips were no longer pink, but a lack-of-oxygen blue. His face looked ghostly next to his jet-black hair.

'He must be freezing,' Enjolras realized because he didn't have a jacket. He took off his own and spread it out over Grantaire's upper body, hoping hypothermia hadn't already set in.

Enjolras was scared; a feeling he rarely ever felt. In the heart of a fight at a ppeaceful-turned-violet rally, he blazed with his braveness and courage. He was unfazed by anything. But now, staring at Grantaire's almost lifeless body, he was terrified. He was terrified that Grantaire would die.

Of course he had seen Grantaire hurt before; he had had torn knuckles from boxing, and even a few broken ribs from drunken bar fights. An injurred Grantaire was not new to anyone; but a pale, unconcious, and nearly lifeless Grantaire was very new.

It was torture to see someone who was so full of life every day to seem almost devoid of it now. Especially because it was a friend.

And yes, Grantaire was a friend to Enjolras, even though he had just realized it now, even though it took Grantaire being hit by a car to figure it out. He had always been there for Enjolras, sometimes even when Comeberre wasn't. He had put his faith in Enjolras and Enjolras had always turned him away. He was ashamed that he had never realized it before.

It was during these churning thoughts that the ambulance and EMT's arrived. One younger girl, most likely still training, led Enjolras a little bit away while the other EMT's carefully lifted Grantaire onto a stretcher and into the abulance. Then Enjolras himself was led in behind by the girl. He sat next to Grantaire and stared stiffly at the wall, the loud orders and shouts of the EMT's brushing right by his ears. He stayed silent and still for the whole ride.

When they reached the hospital, the EMT's rushed Grantaire inside, straight to the Operating Room, and Enjolras was lead to a waiting room by the young EMT. She left Enjolras with a big hug and a sad smile.

"He'll be alright, and so will you," she whispered and then she left.

Enjolras was left all alone in an uncomfortable chair. This was one of the moments that he couldn't remember after everything was over. He stared at the sterile white walls with his knees drawn up to his chest for nearly an hour before anything happened.

And then Joly, who Enjolras vaguely remembered worked as a surgeon for the Emergency Room walked in with tears running down his face.

And that was when Enjolras knew.

He knew that Grantaire had died.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I hope you all liked it and aren't too sad. There's going to be one more chapter and then I'm going to write Part 2 from the rest of Les Amis point of view.
> 
> Also, I'm going to start taking Les Mis drabble/one-shot requests, so if any of ypu have any requests, please put them in a comment below!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras deals with his emotions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt like I had to write this. It could almost be a stand-alone drabble, but I decided to put it here. It's definately not my best writing, but I think it's okay.

Enjolras was numb.

And then he wasn't.

He was laying in his bed when he felt the anger fill him up. It was a raw, ravishing anger that filled him with fury.

It rose and rose until Enjolras finally couldn't keep it in any longer.

He let out a primal scream that tore his throat and jumped up.

He started to lash out at everything.

First, he punched his pillow, but when that didn't quell his anger, he pounded his fists against the wall. Blood streamed from his ripped up knuckles and sent stinging pain up his arms, but he didn't care. It felt so good to destroy.

Enjolras set upon his room like a whirlwind, tearing his curtains from his windows, knocking his various awards off of his dresser, and throwing books from his bookshelves all over his floor.

He knew he would not be satisfied until everything was destroyed, and so his rampage continued until he heard a shout.

It was Combeferre. He was standing in Enjolras' doorway, shock and sadness on his face.

Enjolras froze. Just seeing his best friend calmed his rage and he glanced around his room, taking in the destruction.

He looked in his mirror at himself and stared in horror. His eyes looked crazed a nd his arms were dripping with blood and his hair was all tangled and disheveled. He looked like a monster.

At that realization, all anger fled from his body, leaving a soul-crushing sadness in its wake, and he crumpled into Combeferre's waiting arms.

He hurt so bad. It was an all-consuming grief that tore at his very mind and soul. A single wail ripped itself from his lips and he just laid there in Combeferre's arms, his sadness too deep to show in action or sound.

Seeming to understand this, Combeferre lifted Enjolras to his bed and tucked him in, as a mother would her child. When he was getting up to leave, Enjolras' hand shot from under the covers and latched onto Combeferre's, while his eyes begged for him to stay.

Combeferre conceded and laid down next to him, while Enjolras drifted off into sleep.

His last thought before being pulled into the arms of sleep was that of Grantaire looking into his eyes with love and sadness right before the car stole his life away right in front of Enjolras' eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed! Look for the short Part 2 follow up drabble coming soon.
> 
> As I said in the last chapter, I'm kind of out of ideas to write about, so if you have any Les Mis drabble/one-shot requests, please leave them in the comments.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all enjoyed! The next chapter shouldn't be too long to make. It's going to be shorter, so it will be out in a few days.


End file.
